


Of sunburns and birdsong

by worddumb



Series: The World Is Alive, and a bitch [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Actually I'm Bad At Everything, But writing sometimes i guess, Fluff, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Loneliness, Magic, Minecraft, Of all my fics to get anything resembling a serious name it's This One, The World is alive, also... dream and sapnap miiight be in this work, based on online personas, do you not?, do you think i wrote 3824 words about George and George alone?, either way, either way you'll have to read to find out cause i'm not tagging shit, i am naughty like that but not that naughty, it would be completely gen tho if i didn't use swear words, miiiight. you'll never know, the one with the pervert tree. don't question that, there are hand restraints envolved. no i don't have a 'thing'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25471363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worddumb/pseuds/worddumb
Summary: George goes for a nice walk in the forest after getting burned by the desert sun. He's offended. How dare the sun burn he who wears round sunglasses which have some name I don't remember because I'm a peasant, he who ravages the land-!Some other things happen as well ig but who cares about that.
Series: The World Is Alive, and a bitch [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161437
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	Of sunburns and birdsong

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's back! Back again! worddumb's back! Tell a friend!  
> I have written this and am going into hibernation once again, so long, fuckers!

George is walking. It’s something he’s been doing a lot of, lately, having had his skin flake off due to the sun’s personal vendetta against his sunglasses twice in less than a week. At least for now, though, he’s partially safe from the nether’s glaring eye in the sky, thankful for the thick canopy of both birch and oak above him; honestly, that was pretty much the whole reason he decided to walk through the woodland despite the longing hanging around it like a grainy blanket. 

Together with his own loneliness, the not-quite-sorrow and not-quite-nostalgia coat bright reality in a sepia filter. George embraces it. Grass nips gently at his feet, swaying as though underwater and the sound of his shoes on the forest floor is the most raucous sound around even through phantom bird song and rustling of leaves. There is no wind in the forest, but sunny bunnies dance into George’s shielded eyes ignorant of that fact. 

Not a big prize to pay for the shade, if you ask him. 

Somewhat reflexively, George turns to look at the two blue shulkerboxes floating just behind. They stand out like a sore thumb in the warm pallet of the forest, still tied securely to his backpack, and the sight is comforting for all the times it wasn’t there. Psychotic, persistent hooligans will make even the most basic things into a relief, won’t they? 

He doesn’t ponder on it too long. Any thought of Dream brings a weird high with it, elevates the mood to a rash pace, dawning his presence where he never stepped foot, and George is walking with a definite goal of getting as far away from that as possible. Lucky him, then; the woodland’s sorrowful, affectionate loneliness envelops him back into its slumbrous domain easily enough, even if it’s no longer quite as dulled as he prefers. 

George tries to take a step. His endeavor is wildly unsuccessful. 

Looking down reveals soft, small tendrils of grass wrapping around his ankles with new found desperation, and he knows them to be as green as the hair of his personal wraith. Unlike Dream though, they can be contained, a single quiet galactic word is all it takes to get them to let go. No need for force. No need for conflict. The whole forest rustles away from him as though he’s a wind source, all with the power of just one plea. George chuckles at the idea of Dream doing the same. 

Unthinkable, really. 

Soon enough after the woods tried to snatch him for itself, a consonance of water flow enters the periphery of his hearing. Along with countless little sunny bunnies filtering through the delicate roof of branches and leaves, it feels well and truly like he’s underwater- though if George has to guess, all that beauty means he’s close to the biome’s border. 

Still, he stops again. Turns his head around, listening into the forest symphony carefully, uninterrupted. The water seems to be on the left of him, and since traveling by river tends to be a good idea, he changes his course to go towards it. It’s quite loud, so it must be more of a mountain river; a deduction that proves correct when the so far flat-ish terrain starts to slowly coalesce into hills either side of him. 

The ascend remains soft on his right, while a small cliff face forms on the left. Under his feet, the ground’s texture changes to a more rough, coarse one, with a bit of sand and gravel mixed into it, and George assumes the river has run through the forest, whose shelter he’s enjoying now. Might explain some of the longing, the drowned feeling drooping around him like a veil, a lot of things really. At least, that’s what he tells himself. How much of it is just his presence, he’ll never know.

Almost unnoticeably, George’s path starts to tilt upwards as well, bringing both heights closer to him and him to a conclusion the river is in a canyon of some sort. His musings are supported by the exited if muted tattle of the water now sounding from below as it interlaces with the ghostly song of birds never seen and the rustle of leaves by wind unprompted. It feels a bit like he’s intruding on a conversation. Outsider.

Coming to a stop with the crushing and previously entirely absent feeling, George looks up to the canopy. The canopy seems to look back, as two rays of sunshine directly into his eyes, and even with his glasses he can’t help but shield from them. 

“What?” His voice is somewhat annoyed, jarring. Instead of an answer, the feeling grows into a desire to run. It’s familiar, almost exited, and the greens he can’t see mock his inability to place it. George lifts his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose in concentration, eyes closing. He wills his heart to calm.

A loud shriek interrupts his bizarrely green scented concentration. Somethings thuds on his left. Before he can as much as turn, two hands find their way to his shoulders. He’s yanked in front of his captor, facing the cliff face now, and he can finally place the feeling. 

Another person drops right. In front of him. Almost on his toes, with their iron boots. They straighten with another shrill shriek, and their face is replaced by a simple, white smiling mask. They also have a sword. The one behind him screams right into his right ear: “Ha! I have a shield now, looser! What-“- they proceed to dodge out of the sword’s way, smile not leaving their voice- “-are you gonna do about that now, huh?!” 

“Now?!-“- Dream stabs his sword dangerously close to George’s face again, and the pressure on his shoulders shifts back- “-You never-“- this time, the sword almost gashes his side, just below the ribs, and his vision swims- “- pulled this before, you gaslighter!” 

“You’re a gaslighter!” 

Another thrust of a sword. And another. Next, a fist is added to the mix. The two speed up, George is not even supporting his own weight anymore. Why him? 

Gaining no answer from the world, George takes matters into his own hands. He screams the galactic word for ‘bind’, or ‘get them away’, or ‘tighten’, none of which matters when the person behind him is pulled to the ground with a startled yelp. In front of him, Dream jumps away from the grass. His torso gets stuck in a tree. 

George collapses to the ground, onto his backpack, and flips over to his side. His chest is heaving. Somewhere along the way, his shulkers got cut loose, now hovering in the canopy. Grass is massaging his face. 

“What the hell, let me out!!” 

Up above, a highly dignified gentleman thrashes fruitlessly against an old oak. George tries to pay him no mind. His senses get overwhelmed with the scent of grass. He feels like dehydrated moss. 

“Wow, didn’t know you were basically a god. What the heck, George?” 

The other person he identified as Sapnap somewhere along the way speaks up. His voice is annoying, but at least he’s not growling and whining like an animal, so George graces him with a response: “I’m not”. 

Well, kind of a response. They both know it’s a bullshit evasion. Still, George isn’t particularly fussed about asking a question of his own: “You know each other?” 

“Yup”- Dream stops struggling to answer, but pops the p, so his spot for most annoying being in the perimeter remains uncontested. 

“Oh my god”. George is too done for this. These two will absolutely team up on him in the future, he can just see it in his mind's eye. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Never fell into word, I guess”- Sapnap’s tone is as nonchalant as Dream’s vague hum of noncommittal. While George lets out the most exhausted, exasperated sigh to ever exist, Dream snorts: “Never fell into word? What was that?” 

“Hey, you know what I meant! That’s what matters about language, the way it  _ connects _ people. George’s stupid language doesn’t do that, so go make fun of him!” 

“At least George’s language can get me stuck in a tree. Your weird, sentence structure or whatever, can only sort of make sense, it’s nowhere near as cool”. 

Sapnap’s indignant ‘oh, fuck you, mister grammar’ gets lost in George’s calm: “You’re one to talk, you have a foot in your mouth like, ninety percent of the time”. 

“Hey! I defend your weird witchcraft, and this is the thanks I get?” 

“That was blatant flattery and you know it”. 

“Was not!” 

“It was totally that”, Somehow, Sapnap’s voice is coming from above, so he must have broken out of his grassy bonds. It’s confirmed when his shoes enter George’s field of vision, and he crouches with a mocking smile: “And it’s like, one hundred percent gonna work”. 

Even in the face of slight unease Sapnap’s statement brings, George retains a deadpan: “Why?” 

“Look at’chu! You’re so desperate for affection, you make grass love you”. 

“I’m not making it do anything!” His protest is accompanied by Dream’s amused laughter, and a completely insufferable smirk from Sapnap. A hand comes for his face so fast he doesn’t even catch the moment his glasses are snatched away. He props up on an elbow, looking up, roiled, as Sapnap holds his sunglasses with both palms, making the stupidest expression ever: “Oh look at me, I’m George, I’m so pathetic I’m lying to my friends about how magic works”- posture changing, he adds on in his normal voice- “Hey, these are actually pretty nice”. 

The canopy rustless, and Dream drops to the ground with an avalanche of giggles. George’s indignant ‘neither of you is my friend!’ is lost to his wheeze, but apparently, he still catches it: “Aww, what? You love us!” 

With some difficulty, George pulls himself up into a sitting position: “No”. Both Dream and Sapnap huff at that, which he ignores in favor of getting up. “What do you mean ‘no’?”- Dream’s voice breaks up with mischief, just a hint of indignance making it all the funnier. Still, George manages to have enough self-respect to continue dusting off without a reaction. 

“I mean, when you really think about it, he has every reason to dislike you, Dream”. Sapnap’s statement takes the guardian-like beam of Dream’s attention off him. Too curious for his own good, George stares at the beginnings of what is sure to become a wither war of an exchange, already feeling the silence crush down on their little corner of the world. “What”. 

“You kinda try to murder him every time you see him, dude. I’d be kinda angry too”. 

Dream’s posture shifts, in that subtle way George has long learned not to chalk up to imagination, predatory and sinister as much as it is playful, and he crosses his arms in an almost cartoonish way: “I never did kill him though”. 

“Mhm, sure, like attempted murder isn’t still murder”. 

Sapnap’s posture shifts, too, and his face is so smug it almost makes George astral project. The air between Dream and he is thicker, George thoroughly forgotten on the shores of tension lake, so, with one last silent memorial for his lost sunglasses, he starts silently creeping away. 

“It’s not murder if no one died, you idiot. Plus, it’s not like You’re any better, you said he was your friend too, but all you do is insult him! Compared to you I’m practically a saint”. 

Never once in his life was George so thankful for the way the world accommodated him. There is not even a whisper of grass against shoe where he steps, not the quietest buzz of affection the ground has for all who walk it. He almost has to worry about being too quiet. 

“Hey! He doesn’t have to like me to be my friend, Dream”. 

“That’s literally not how friendship works”. 

Sapnap groans, reaching to adjust George’s sunglasses. George tenses at the noise. Blessedly, he goes ignored. 

“It is. You’re just jealous that I’m George’s friend and you’re not”. 

“You two hate each other!” 

“Well yeah, but we hate you more. That’s what makes us such good friends”. 

Somehow, Sapnap’s fake cheery smile is more audible than it is visible, maybe because of the glasses. Around his feet, grass dances in spite of his inability with galactic.

“Oh come on! Ugh, whatever. Relationships built of mutual hate are doomed to fail anyways, and who’s he gonna run back to when you inevitably break his heart? Me, that’s who”. 

Children, both of them. George’s life, at the moment, is in the hands of literal adult children with rights and a sword. If he could, he’d start running, but for now, the distance between him and them builds agonizingly slow. He feels like a sack of tightly wound string. The air around him rings with it, intoxicatingly sweet and thick when he inhales it, as though trying to meek him, ease him down-

“How’s he gonna run to you if right now, he’s creeping away from both of us, huh?” 

Oh, fuck- 

George pivots. Two steps are all he manages to accomplish, Dream tackling him to the ground from behind with maniacal giggles. His hands get pinned, and, while he’s coughing from having someone smash into his back, through his backpack full of stuff, tied together. The grass gets back to swirling around his face.

He doesn’t try to resist. 

“Did you think we forgot all about you Georgie?” It’s Sapnap, voice coming from above, full to the brim with amusement: “We’re not That stupid”. 

Thank all the gods, Dream gets up from his back. Not very relieving, but at least now he has enough breath to open his eyes without too much effort. “Oh my goodness- did you plan this from the start?” 

“What do you think?” Dream is squatting down to the left of him, hand on his bound wrists, and his tone is so infuriatingly enthralled and smug, George’s already done demeanor wants to either slap a bitch or jump off a small hill. 

“Ugh- why, just why? Why me? Of all the people you know, couldn’t you have picked someone else? I hate you”. 

“That’s a lot of words for someone who just got prisoned”. Seemingly just for the reason of looking George in the face, Sapnap puts his hands on the ground, resting his head on them. Immediately, he gets swarmed by the grass too. It’s a betrayal of the last resort.

“You’re not- ugh, I’m not even gonna try. You’re both lunatics either way”.

“Yeah yeah, and you belong to us now. So we’re gonna make you love us. I can even make you admit it, no big deal”. As though to convey he means business, Dream squeezes his forearm as he speaks. 

“You make it sound like you’re gonna torture me or something”. 

“And who says we aren’t?” 

“Uhhhh, common sense?” At this point, a bit of a smug smile of his own crept into George’s voice. It was mystifying, how often he forgets he was probably the most powerful person in the room, but boy did he enjoy the times he’d remember; the silent look Dream and Sapnap share before Dream states ‘Fair enough. We can still withhold food from you, though’ sends a hot wash of satisfaction through George’s nervous system. He likes being respected, like that. In spite of the fact he’s bound and helpless, and in spite of the fact they could probably just gag him if they really wanted to hurt him. Regnant, without any factor but his own. He’s earned this. 

They help him up, untie his hands briefly to take off his backpack, Dream even gets his shulckers out of the tree while Sapnap gets him situated under it in a blanket of wool they stole from him. Bickering and joking, they start up a campfire, all the while he sits and jokes around with them, enjoying the odd sense of relaxation that comes with being restrained. Birdsong still filtering through the air, audible only to him, is soon joined by playful bubbling of a soup audible to everyone, made, of course, entirely out of his resources. When his captors are finally free of the clutches of cooking, Dream ties the end of what turned out to be his lead to the tree, ‘just to be sure’, and proceeds to hug him for an unsettling amount of time, joined in his endeavor by Sapnap almost straight away. What is soon to be their dinner bubbles away, unbothered by the human sandwich leaning heavily against a tree. 

It’s all really, really weird, but George chooses not to ponder too much. 

By the time the soup is done, the sun’s already setting, making the forest appear so much warmer, bigger than before. Dream’s pushed his mask up to taste stuff quite a bit ago, and his smile can rival the one that stared George in the face earlier today. Sapnap’s grinning too, pushing his head against Dream’s arm as he fills up a bowl, and George is surprised by how well he fits into this idyll. As it turns out, these two have known each other for years, personal anecdotes pouring out of them like out of a cornucopia when he’d asked. 

Dream sets down next to him, soup in one hand and spoon in another. “Hey, are you hungry?” 

“Uhh, yeah,”- George gazes incredulously at the objects- “why?” 

“Cause you can’t eat on your own”. A little hunched, Dream looks like he’s bracing for something. Like most of his expressions, it’s really muted, his voice sounding astoundingly normal for what he’s implying. 

“Umm, are you mocking me or something? What sort of sick power play is that?” 

“Stop avoiding the question”. This time, his voice is infused with something akin to amusement. To counter that, or maybe to partake, George laces his own with something a lot like mischief, though it comes out a bit tattered with anxiety.

“I answered your question, Dream”. 

“Oh My God, I want to feed you! Geez!” 

“It’s weird!” Not much weirder than the sudden rush of content attention from the old oak George is leaning onto, but Dream doesn’t need to know about that.

“It’s not like I’m gonna momma bird it to you”. His wraith slumps slightly, entirely too huffy, sending George reeling into the, evidently grown on bones of perverts, tree. Not helping the situation at all, previously quiet Sapnap takes a break from scoffing down food to chime a cheery ‘I would!’ in, which George can only groan to, dragging his pate against rigid bark like it isn’t a large cause of his distress. 

“You could literally just untie me”. 

“But where’s the fun in that?” Dream all but whines, in a voice so dignified and mocking it really had no business being read as such. The bark shifts against George’s back, engulfing him a bit into the trunk. If he thought the grass betrayed him before, this is straight-up treason against all things good, and he isn’t here for that.

“There isn’t”. 

Even though the mask, George can sense the kicked puppy eyes. One day, he’s gonna get revenge, and it’s gonna be the most humiliating thing that could ever happen to Dream, and he’s gonna film it and make it widely accessible: “Fine”. His voice can’t be more resigned. 

The sparkles that appear alongside Dream’s giddy smile are almost visible to the naked eye. George’s sure they’d be there if he bothers to look closely. 

Pointing to Dream with what little agency his hands have, he looks to Sapnap: “Is he always like this?” It’s rhetorical, but that doesn’t mean he’s not offended when all he gets in response is a bunch of muffled affirmative noises. A spoon hovers right under his nose, the bark shifting once again in a manner that can only be described as pleased. At least the soup smells good. 

Giving in, he tastes it. His back receives a full-blown massage at that, and it’s only partly from shuddering like an idiot at the unsurprisingly high temperature and surprisingly pleasant taste. The next spoon, he goes after more easily, and soon, Dream and he manage to set into a comfortable rhythm, Sapnap’s chawing keeping things from getting too awkward- for George, that is. He doubts Dream can feel awkward about something so minor. 

Maybe a little, if the way he holds his head tilted slightly downwards and his shoulders up are anything to go by. 

Before they know it, the bowl of soup disappears into George’s stomach, leaving him content and mellow, and Dream gets to start on his own portion. It makes George fell slightly guilty for taking so long to agree, but any and all of that is blown away by Sapnap and his immediate remark upon noticing George’s reaction: “Get yourself a man who will let himself starve for you”. 

Quietly thanking his tormentor for the food doesn’t leave George prepared for a whole bunch of Sapnap dropping onto his knees and pinching his cheeks like a proud grandma, making some remark or other about him being such a good boy, he’s still growing after all, he needs all the nutrition he can get, which was all the more infuriating because George was older if a Whole Pixel shorter. 

They proceed to bicker all through the evening, soon joined by Dream who makes an entrance by shoving Sapnap of George’s knees to then replace him with his head. Somewhere in the back of his mind, George wants to be outraged, but alas, he keeps sitting there and low-key enjoying the physical affection he so rarely gets. Talking about anything and everything until all of them have sore throats and the light of a kind full moon filters through lurking leaves is an unusual experience for him, as well, and by the time they have to go to sleep he is relaxed to the point of forgetting the lead was there. 

He also forgets about needing to take his meds, but thanks to Dream’s stalking abilities, he’s saved by another illegal intrudence into his backpack and being hand-fed a bunch of pills. If anything, it’s a testament to his exhaustion, because he concedes without even a performative fight.

One of the things he comes to love most about being incapacitated is, neither of his keepers even tries to get his help setting up tents. All he gets is a bit of Sapnap bitching, which he, nestled into a tree as he is, almost falls asleep to. 

The fuckers don’t untie him until he’s laying in his tent, but despite that and all the events of the day, falling asleep to the soft movement of his sleeping bag on gently rocking grass is… Peaceful. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just kidding I love you please stay I'm more desperate for company than George-


End file.
